


Memoria;Garten

by Onus_Probandi



Series: Memoria [1]
Category: Final Fantasy Type-0, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Archbishop My Unit | Byleth, B support, Background Poly, Background Relationships, Crossover Pairings, I'm really sorry this is self indulgent and brainwormy, M/M, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, They/Them Pronouns for My Unit | Byleth, idk why i wrote this but its a whole series, possible ooc, the tea time table
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:01:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25681708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onus_Probandi/pseuds/Onus_Probandi
Summary: Archbishop of the Church of Seiros in an era of peace only achieved through the sacrifice of Lady Rhea, Byleth realizes that not all is as it seems and the truth lies deep within the empty throne of time.(Support level: B)
Relationships: Kurasame Susaya/My Unit | Byleth
Series: Memoria [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1862260
Kudos: 2





	Memoria;Garten

**Author's Note:**

> HI UH, Idk why I did this, but I'm glad you're here! I hope you enjoy the story I'm creating even a little.
> 
> yell at me on twitter: https://twitter.com/Momancity or leave a comment if you liked this first chapter! ;u;

The invitation for tea is casual enough, a careful, practiced set of raps on his office door, and a far more personal invitation than is appropriate of the Archbishop. A heavy sigh can be heard from behind the thick wood before a tired voice calls out, “come in.” They oblige, taking a steadying breath before opening the door and giving a small smile to their subordinate. 

Professor Kurasame Susaya, practically bent over his desk in exhaustion moments before, straightens his back and makes to stand in automatic respect, but Byleth shakes their head. The first thing they notice is that they can see Kurasame’s nose for once. “Archbishop, pardon my lack of formality,” Kurasame is stuck in an odd half-bow. And in the low, setting sunlight, Byleth can make out a discarded, soiled cape draped across the back of his chair and the smattering of thin, dark scars across the Professor’s jaw. They advert their eyes to preserve the man’s pride, feeling intrusive, and all too abusive in their position of power over him. 

There’s a rustling of paper and cloth for a moment. Kurasame then clears his throat, allowing Byleth to finally make eye contact. They’re always taken aback by those deep, stormy blues. They’ve dreamt of a sea of the exact same color, perhaps they’ve seen one long ago and that’s what draws them to the man: the ebb and flow of the tides of fate. Ah, they’re staring again and completely disassociated, aren’t they? They constantly do this, zoning out while boring their gaze into whoever is most unfortunate. Most of the monastery has learned of their troublesome habit but it’s still...extremely distressing and they can practically feel the hairs standing up on the back of Kurasame’s neck. He’s looked away already, expression drowned in his mask but maybe something akin to an awkward smile has bloomed across his face.

Ah, curse the Goddess, how they wish they can see it.

They can, however, see the unrestrained shock that ripples across Kurasame’s forehead when they say, “Right, I wanted to invite you to tea.”

The other professor is obviously mulling over his words far more than Byleth can manage, blinking slowly and deliberately, forehead wrinkling in thought and sheer concentration to keep his emotions reeled in. “You...you didn’t have to come all this way to ask that, Archbishop. It’s rather sudden. But, of course, I would be honored.”

He’s oddly far more secretive than Byleth ever realized, at least when it comes to intimate matters such as this. Ever so respectfully a great distance to the side, he follows down the path to the gardens of the monastery, offering to pull Byleth’s chair out (how gentlemanly). They refuse, of course, they’re equals and Byleth can sit on their own accord. They can practically feel his primness kick into full swing as Byleth cheerfully prepares the Rose Petal Blend they’ve kept squirreled away for this occasion (maybe they do have a bit of an obsession but only a tiny, completely professional one.)

Unconsciously, Kurasame’s gloved fingers twitch when he’s offered tea, struggling with the concept of purposely exposing Byleth to his face to indulge in proper courtesy or being disrespectful to the archbishop themself. In a show of careful anxiety, a finger taps restlessly against the delicate china, sending waves across the blood-red surface. His mouth moves underneath the cloth, ah, what have they done? They’ve made him uncomfortable.

Just before they can retract the offer of tea, Kurasame takes the cup in his hand (ah...it fits so perfectly in his hands). He’s shy and apologetic when he removes his mask to take a polite sip, muttering “I apologize,” as if his scars offend them. The accident from when he was barely a student himself left his mouth and upper lip scarred, pale, smooth lines of flesh disappearing down his jaw and into the turtleneck he always wears. Surprisingly, his lips are intact, free of the raised lines. Byleth has heard many stories as to how Kurasame acquired the scars each more fanciful than the last and none of them from the professor himself.

Before Byleth can muse more, the mask is securely fastened back in place. What other secrets does he hide?

* * *

The tea time has become a regular occurrence, mostly out of Byleth’s desire to know more about the mysterious captain from the lands and wars far beyond even Almyra. Of course, Byleth’s predecessor Rhea had found him and brought him back to Fodlan with her, claiming his talents were far more useful here than his homeland (the religious colonialism makes Byleth extremely uncomfortable) but why hasn’t he returned home since her disappearance?

They would never ask him that, however. Thinking it alone feels wrong and to put those feelings into words…

(Oddly enough, Kurasame doesn’t seem old enough to have met Rhea before she vanished)

Kurasame has become more comfortable, occasionally taking small, controlled bites of the provided crumpets. Byleth asks if he even likes them and he makes a small negative sound in the back of his throat. 

“It doesn't offend me if you don’t like something, you know,” they laugh at the eyebrows that nearly disappear into his hairline. 

Oh.

Their hand has found his gloved one resting atop the table. They didn’t even mean to-

“Ah,” they jolt back as if burned, stunned at their unconscious movement. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate.”

Kurasame takes a meditative sip of, sugar-laden, rose tea. Byelth may be imagining it, but is that a slight pink to his face? 

The silence rings in their ears, the betrayer’s hands now safely underneath the table, nails digging into knuckles and right palm warm from the lingering contact.

A gentle  _ klink _ of teacup against saucer clears the fog long enough for Byleth to realize that his hand hasn’t moved from where he left it. His fingers tap the table in invitation as he mutters, softly enough to ignore if disgraceful but loud enough to offer, “you haven’t done anything requiring an apology. At least,’ he extends his hand. 

“Not to me.”

  
  



End file.
